Some mornings, this bed is a fresh-plowed field
Still ripe with dew and softly radiant;
Others, it is all scorched earth, bright yellow
Coverlet thrown off to relieve the heat;
And occasionally, it lies fallow
Waiting patiently, soaking in the sun.
I always do the same thing in the morning
No matter what the night before has brought.
With the shower singing in the next room
I tuck the sheets and gather up the dreams
Place the pillows side by side, and give thanks
For daylight, and forgiveness, and coffee.